Mother I Crave Violence Novels & Stories

She's staring at me like I am not her daughter. "Your bravery cannot change everything! Just follow me, Avi because these are all for you. Try to disrespect me again and I—" "You will what? You will kill me?" I laughed sarcastically, "Then kill me! You already killed me mom by just turning your back on me for my rapist."

And just as expected, they ate it up. The caption makes me scoff internally: “ENSTRAGED LOVER AND MIAMI’S MOST ELIGIBLE PLAYBOY IZAAC ARMANI CAUGHT IN A STEAMY KISS WITH BANKRUPT HEIRESS BROOKLYN WHEELER. HAS A WOMAN FINALLY PUT THIS HEARTBREAKER IN A CHOKEHOLD… OR SHOULD WE SAY COCKHOLD?” Fucking ridiculous. “Is that you or not?” Mother demands, voice sharp enough to cut glass.

"You’re just a wet hole in a tight dress who doesn't know when to walk away." Something inside me snaps. It’s not a slow break; it’s a violent shattering of the composure I’ve been holding together with duct tape and desperation. The fear for my father, the exhaustion of working double shifts, the sheer degradation of being treated like garbage by this arrogant, beautiful man—it all boils over. "You know what?" I hiss, the polite facade melting away to reveal the rage underneath. I lift the tray. With a sharp, jerking motion, I flip it over.

“They wanted you to be an echo.” His thumb swept under her eye. “But you screamed.” She grabbed his wrist. “Don’t make this better than it is.” “I’m not.” “Then what are you doing?” Cassian’s voice barely broke a whisper. “Standing still. So you don’t have to scream alone.” Her grip didn’t loosen. But her chin did. Slightly. Because despite everything her history, her fury, her mother’s voice playing on loop inside her skull Cassian was still the only thing in the room that didn’t hurt.

He could only pray someone would help him… he didn't want to be tainted by a crazy woman, he didn't want this! So he resisted even more, letting his body twist and turn, his bloodshot eyes poured out tears, he whimpered from the pain, but couldn't care, instead, he bit his lips and continued to fight her which made the crazy woman go even more insane. “Ahhh! Bastard! Bastard! I want to… I want to see you… Why can't I see your Stick! Why can't I see?!” Michelle yelled, so desperate, so excited with crazy rage.

From everything I’d done, everything I’d been. I’d killed, I’d bled, I’d broken men without thought—and now here I was, terrified of breaking something that weighed less than a loaf of bread. What kind of father could I be? The question burned in my chest. But then I looked down again. And I had my answer. The kind who never stops fighting. The kind who never puts the gun down. The kind who loves so recklessly, so violently, that nothing—no army, no queen, no monster—can take her away.

I plunged my huge dick inside her vagina roughly making her moan in pleasure while I feel my dick starting to get hard, not because I am enjoying this but because it feels like my dick has a mind of its own. I fuck her as fast as I can, my hand was resting on the bed while mom is still moaning in pleasure. She was fucking enjoying this while I was trying my best not to fucking cry while I'm fucking her. This is so fucking disgusting. This is so wrong on so many levels but I did nothing, if only I dare to kill this fucking evil woman. She abused me and I still think of her as my mother. How I wish I can be so heartless and kill this woman.

"The 'Terrorist' is gone. The loose ends of the past years are finally buried under the reservoir. Now, stop playing with that letter opener and sit down. We have a press conference to prepare for. You are about to become the most sympathetic widow in the country." "You... you killed them," Mother rasped, her voice trembling with a fury so potent it seemed to be the only thing keeping her upright. She lunged forward, her frail hands clawing at Vincenzo’s lapels. "You killed my little bird! You killed my Catrina!" Vincenzo shoved her back with a cold, effortless disdain. Mother stumbled, and I caught her, my arms wrapping around her thin, boney shoulders. The scent of hospital antiseptic and

“My mother just liked the name.” My mother was actually Hispanic but I didn’t feel like I had to indulge in my life history. I am drunk but not loose mouthed. “Oh,” she rolls her tongue in her mouth. I curse lowly, averting my gaze immediately my thoughts start going haywire. I should get off my ass and get out of here.

“You think you know everything.” “Well, I know enough, mother.” “No,” she said, her voice softened, almost like she was pitying me. “You know what you see. And what you saw in whatever camera of yours, you’ve already twisted in that little head of yours.” I stared at her, stunned by how calm she sounded. “You’re insane.” “You are, and always will be emotional,” she corrected. “How can you stand there and be so calm when you drugged him?” I said again, my voice breaking. “You took advantage of him. Of me. Of this family.”